The Shadow Knight (A Shadow Knight Novel Book 1)

by Jason L. McWhirter

  General Moore nodded. “Very well.”

  “What are we to do about Maltheil?” Lord Anteel asked.

  Peron looked at Atticus. “Any ideas?”

  “I’m working on some,” the druid added. “One other thing I forgot to mention. Your friend, Tyril, is alive.”

  Peron smiled broadly, but then it disappeared as guilt overtook him. With all that had happened to him and his family, he had forgotten about his friend. “Where did you see him?”

  “I met him on the road,” Atticus said. “They were ambushed by Tur’el soldiers. His father ordered him to flee with the princess. They escaped.”

  “What happened to the Battle Lord?” Sig Moore asked.

  “Likely dead, but we do not know for sure,” Atticus answered.

  “Tyril is with the Tur’el princess, and they are headed here?” Lord Anteel asked. His tone was clear, wondering why the princess of a kingdom that had betrayed them would be on her way to Lanard.

  “According to her,” Atticus began, “she had no knowledge of her father’s betrayal. She hates the man. And I believe her.”

  “We shall see about that,” General Moore said, as if he was eager to get his meaty hands on her.

  “One more thing,” Atticus said. “A warrior found us on the road. Or more accurately, was led to us. He is now traveling with Tyril and they should arrive tomorrow. He has come to help us defeat Maltheil.”

  Lord Anteel pursed his lips in confusion. “What does one warrior matter to us?”

  The corner of Atticus’s lips lifted into a knowing smile, like he knew something they didn’t, which he did. “His name is Jonas Kanrene. He was once a cavalier to Shyann, and now he is her knight. He still servers her will and he brings with him great skill and power. With his help, we may have a chance.”

  Master Vollen had been silent the entire time, taking in all the news, but now he spoke, very much interested in this new turn of events. “Is this the same man who fought Malbeck in the Great War?”

  “The same man who trained under Commander Kiln himself?” Peron asked.

  Atticus lifted his eyebrows. “One and the same.”

  “That is good news,” General Moore said. “If the songs and stories are true, he will indeed be of great service.”

  “It’s late everyone,” Peron said, directing his gaze to the General. “General Moore, please prepare the army. Then get some rest. We will have much to do tomorrow.”

  General Moore bowed, deeper than he ever had towards him while Peron’s father was alive. “It will be done.” Then he left the room.

  Lord Anteel stepped to Peron’s side and placed a callused hand on his arm. “I’m sorry about your father and uncle,” he said. “Your uncle was my friend and he will be missed. Do not try to be them. You are your own man.” Then he gently patted his arm. “You will be a fine king. May I give you some further advice?”

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t let on that you have no idea what you’re doing.” Then he smiled, and walked away.

  “I like him,” Atticus said when the door shut behind him.

  Peron looked at Atticus, his expression like stone. “How do we defeat Maltheil?”

  “As I said, young king, I’m working on it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Peron was in the council chambers when Tyril, Jonas, Bearit, and Kylin entered. He was working with General Moore, councilmen Inan, Anteel, and Caynon, planning for the upcoming battle. He was tired; the last few days spent preparing the city for the advancing Tur’el army. There was so much to do and so many unknowns, the least of which was what they were going to do about the demon and his army of demon-spawn. The appearance of his friend and guests were a welcome distraction.

  “Tyril,” Peron exclaimed, getting up from the table and crossing to them as several Red Guard soldiers escorted them to the massive round table. “It is so good to see you, my friend.” They shook hands while the others at the table stood from their seats.

  “You too.” Then he placed his arm on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your father and uncle. I guess I need to call you king now.”

  “I don’t think I will ever get used to that,” he said, smiling at his friend. The last few days had been very stressful for him, and seeing his friend gave him some needed strength, his presence alone helping him feel that he was not alone. Then he looked at the others, stepping away from Tyril. “I am Peron Rothar, and you must be Jonas Kanrene, Bearit, and Kylin Oneck. Welcome to Lanard.”

  Jonas nodded as they shook hands, hand to forearm. Peron was no warrior, but he knew protocol, especially when greeting one such as Jonas. Tulari was sitting next to Jonas. Peron had been briefed on her, but despite what he knew, she unnerved him. Even though she was not at full size, she radiated a sense of power. Peron smiled at her but said nothing, unsure how he should greet her. He greeted Bearit in a similar fashion, casual yet firm. Bearit shook his hand, thanking him for the welcome. Then Peron stepped towards Kylin, his smile wide.

  She looked away for a moment, her nervousness at meeting him overwhelming her briefly. Regaining her composure she tried her best to portray confidence, like she had been taught at court. But it was difficult. She knew that everyone in attendance was aware of her father’s betrayal, and likely looked to her with disdain, or even still thinking that she had been a part of it. And she couldn’t blame them. “I…” she began, stumbling over her words.

  “Do not worry,” Peron said. “Atticus has informed us what happened. You are welcome here.”

  She smiled. “I thank you for your sanctuary. I don’t know what to say. I cannot believe that my father betrayed the treaty and your kingdom. I hope you believe that I had nothing to do with it.”

  Peron wasn’t sure what to make of her. She was beautiful yet average at the same time. She had strength about her. Perhaps it was her chin he thought. It was strong, but as he examined her narrow face and firm lips, he realized it was her eyes. They were set, determined, and despite the fact that she was nervous, there was something deeper there…a sense of competence. He reached for her hand and kissed it, as was tradition. “Princess Kylin, you are safe here,” he added, smiling warmly, trying to make her at ease. “Now,” he announced as he turned around. “I’m sure you are tired and in need of refreshments. We could use your council however. Would you mind eating and drinking here while we discuss our current predicament? We could use some new perspectives.”

  “Very well,” Jonas said, his vigilant eyes continuing to scan the room. “Where is Atticus?”

  “In our library,” Peron answered. “I’ll send a runner to him immediately. Please have a seat. Food and drink will come soon.” Peron ordered food and drink from several nearby servants, then he ushered his guests to the table.

  They ate and talked for the better part of the evening. Peron had told them of the attack the other night and everyone listened intently, especially Tyril, who couldn’t believe that his friend had survived. They discussed the condition of their army and other preparations necessary for a siege. Jonas listened but said very little, analyzing the men around him. He knew there was a traitor somewhere in their midst, and it was likely someone high up in the nobility, or at least someone who was close to the royal family. Anyone at the table could be the man that helped the Tur’el wizard free Maltheil.

  Atticus had arrived soon after their meal and greeted them with tired eyes. “You made good time,” he said to Jonas and the others as he sat down to join them at the conference table. “That is good.”

  Jonas, speaking up for the first time in a while, cut right to the point. “We need a way to kill the demon. If not, I’m afraid the beast’s demon-spawn will scale the walls at night and break through the defenses. Have you found anything?”

  Everyone knew he was talking to Atticus. The councilmen had learned of the druid’s identity the day before. They had spent their entire lives at court; dealing with the intrigues, petty squabbles, power struggles, rules and et
iquette, but the druid’s presence still had an emotional effect on them. They looked at him with wonder and awe, with respect and deference. “I have some ideas,” Atticus said as he sighed, shaking his head. “But it’s just a foundation. As of yet I do not have the intricacies worked out.”

  “The Tur’el army is two to three days out,” General Moore said. “We do not have much time left.”

  “Can we even kill the demon?” Lord Caynon asked. As a retired Red Guard officer, his first thought was always to pragmatic military solutions, and in this case he hoped that their problem could be resolved with the blade.

  “Not fully,” Atticus said. “Maltheil is not of this world. If we kill its body here, then its essence will be banished back to his home on the sixth plane.”

  “That is good, isn’t it?” Lord Caynon asked.

  “Yes,” Atticus answered. “But not great. It will solve our immediate problem, but,” he warned, “he may find a way to come back. I believe the beast’s vengeance for its imprisonment is all consuming.”

  “But did you not banish him to the nethers before,” Jonas added. “And still he found a way to come back.”

  “That is true,” Atticus said.

  “Is there a way to permanently kill the beast?” Peron asked.

  “Yes,” Atticus answered quickly, looking over at the young king. “He needs to be killed at home, on his own plane.”

  Peron sat back in his chair, releasing a deep breath. Everyone else looked equally resigned, except for Jonas. “Can we travel to the sixth plane?”

  All eyes stared at him in bewilderment. When they saw he was serious they didn’t know what to say. It was Atticus who answered. “Yes, it’s possible. But there are several problems with that plan.” Atticus knew that Jonas was serious. The young warrior had accomplished much in his short life, and the druid reasoned there was very little that the warrior thought was beyond the realm of possibility. After all, he felt the same way.

  “Several,” Lord Inan balked sarcastically. “It’s impossible. Fighting something that powerful here is bad enough, but trying it there…is just ludicrous. I suggest we focus on the plausible, not the impossible.”

  “If you think it’s impossible, then it is,” Jonas said softly, his tone serious as he rested his strong forearms on the table. “I have faced many dilemmas that seemed impossible at the time, but I am still here. Where there is courage, wisdom, and strength of arms, then anything is possible, Lord Inan.”

  “Let’s hear the problems of the plan first, before we decide if it’s possible,” Lord Anteel suggested.

  Lord Inan looked perturbed, glancing around the room for support. Glancing at Jonas last, he looked into his hard narrow eyes, and looked away quickly, not able to hold his intense gaze.

  Atticus continued. “The first problem would be banishing him to his home and then us following. If we succeeded there, then we would have to devise a way to defeat him where he is the strongest. He would surely have minions at his disposal, which would add to the difficulty in killing him.”

  “Not to mention,” Tyril reasoned, “that we would need a way to return home.”

  Atticus pursed his lips, sighing through his nose. “There is that as well.”

  “Can it be done?” Jonas asked again. “All of it?”

  “It can,” Atticus said. “The only way that we can get the demon, and a contingent of warriors, to the sixth plane, is through a portal, a gateway. I have the skill to open one here, but once there I will not be able to open another to return. My power comes from the earth, the forest around us, and there will be neither in that hellish place. I will not be able to touch the Sanga.”

  Jonas was familiar with portals, having traveled once to the Hallows, a world between worlds. He wondered if the Hallows was a similar place to the nethers, but according to Atticus’s description he did not believe so, besides both of them were places that one did not go to purposefully. Portals, he knew, were located at waypoints, doors so to speak between the worlds. “How would we lead Maltheil to a waypoint?” Jonas asked.

  “What is a waypoint?” Tyril asked.

  “Weaknesses between the worlds,” Peron answered, thinking about all he had read and studied over the years. “The elves call them sikani, or holes, as they view them as disturbances in the Ru’ach. Or holes that lead to tunnels, that, if one were so empowered, could follow to various worlds.”

  “That is correct,” Atticus confirmed.

  “So they are magical?”

  “In a sense, yes,” Atticus said. “Many elves can find them as they are more attuned to the Ru’ach. But very few others can locate the waypoints, let alone use them.”

  “So,” Peron said, thinking out loud. “Let us pretend that we could trick Maltheil to enter a gateway, with a small group of select warriors, and that we can kill him once we arrive on the sixth plane. How would we get back?”

  Atticus sighed, his frustration evident, as well as his exhaustion. “That is what I’ve been working on. I cannot reopen the gate once there as I will have no connection the Sanga. But I may be able to create a link to something here, and use that connection to reopen it. It is magic I have never done, but,” he said softly, “I believe it is possible.”

  “And if not?” General Moore asked.

  “Then whoever is there will die.”

  “What are our other options?” Peron asked.

  “We could try to imprison Maltheil with a demon trap,” Atticus answered. “Then I could try to banish him. Although I am stronger now than I was two thousand years ago, I am unsure if I have the strength to banish him on my own.”

  “I read once that wizards can link minds with others, to gain more strength,” Peron said. “Is this something you can do?”

  “Yes, that is exactly what I did with my grove so long ago. But the minds from which I’m linking with must be strong.” Atticus saw where Peron was going and warned him. “And it is dangerous. If not mentally strong enough, Maltheil can destroy you in the process. And one more thing. My power is limited here, in the castle, with all this stone and mortar. I need the earth at my feet and the forest around me to be at my strongest. I suggest we bring the fight to them before they arrive at our gates.”

  “That would give us very little time,” Lord Anteel said.

  “And also the element of surprise,” Jonas added.

  “There is a gateway close,” Atticus said.

  “Where?” Peron asked, sitting forward again.

  “Taren’s Crossing.”

  “The bridge?” Peron asked. The bridge was built nearly five hundred years ago by one of Peron’s ancestors, naming it after his son, who by all accounts became a good king.

  “Yes,” Atticus said. “The bridge was actually built at that location because of the gateway.”

  “I did not know that,” Peron replied.

  “That is the only way for an army to cross the river. The Tur’el army will be there in two days,” General Moore said, his tone showing his concern. They did not have much time. “We do not even know if Maltheil is traveling with them. The beast and his army could be moving much faster. We need information.”

  Jonas knew the bridge well. It was the same bridge where he and Bearit were attacked. “The bridge is narrow,” he said. “A fine spot for a trap. As far as information, I can send Tulari. There is no other who can move as fast and not be noticed.”

  “Do it,” Peron said.

  ***

  Tyril’s sword came down fast, his silver blade striking between the blades of Bearit’s axe as he lifted the heavy head to meet it. Angling down, he pushed his sword away and kicked out with his powerful leg. But Tyril spun quickly, blocking the kick with his shield, his own sword spinning by Bearit’s stomach, retracting the blade at the last minute so as not to cut him.

  Stepping away, Tyril smiled. “That was a nice move,” he said. “If I didn’t have my shield, your kick would have connected.”

  “And maybe I would not be dead fro
m that last strike. You are very fast,” Bearit added.

  Tyril was impressed with Bearit’s strength and stamina. They had been sparring for quite some time, Tyril giving pointers where he could. Although Tyril had scored several fatal blows, the big logger had held his own for some time. And Tyril was extremely strong, but he could still feel the power of Bearit’s strikes in his arms. He had never fought against someone that strong, not even his father.

  They had spent another hour on their make-shift plan when they all had left to prepare, and get some rest if possible. Jonas had sent Tulari away and stayed with Atticus to discuss the matter further. Tyril had suggested to Bearit that they practice, and Bearit, eager to learn all he could, readily accepted.

  “I’ve been training since I could lift a sword,” Tyril responded. “You started a month ago. It is I who am impressed.”

  They moved to the water basin and ladled big gulps of water. “I’m sorry about your father,” Bearit said. “Do you think he is still alive?”

  Tyril wiped the sweat from his face. Resigned, he unbuckled his shield and leaned it against the basin. “I don’t know. If anyone could’ve survived that ambush, it was him.”

  “He is good with a blade?”

  Tyril smiled for the first time. “The best. He was so fast and strong, and utterly fearless.”

  Bearit shook his head and let out a deep breath. “If I am to be honest, I am afraid.”

  Tyril looked at him with no derision. “I as well,” he agreed. “Fighting the demon is bad enough, but doing so in that place of monsters and fire…well, it is not something I’m looking forward to.” Both Tyril and Bearit, along with Jonas and Atticus, had agreed to enter the gate if they could in fact get Maltheil through it. They were presently looking into getting several more Red Guard soldiers to join them, some of the best warriors, but those men had yet to be determined.

  “My greatest fear not be facing the demon, but being stranded there if we actually survive,” Bearit added.